


Where Angels Fear To Tread

by ThereminVox



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M, tags and summaries are a curse, this is mainly john/dep with jacob and joseph as vague sidepieces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-02 23:56:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereminVox/pseuds/ThereminVox
Summary: Indescribable pain.Spectral twinges of anaphylactic shock, quivering against the frail bosom.It hurt John. Hurt to see the object of his budding affection seek solace in the taller, sturdy man’s company.The man was his eldest brother, to be exact, but John wasn’t at all partial to sharing once he set his sights on the 5 foot nothing, mercurial image of fluent charm and tenderness.An odd feeling it was.Eventhatwas an understatement.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

Indescribable pain.

Spectral twinges of anaphylactic shock quivering against the frail bosom. It hurt John. Hurt to see the object of his budding affection seek solace in the taller, sturdy man’s company. The man was his eldest brother, to be exact, but John wasn’t at all partial to sharing once he set his sights on the 5 foot nothing, mercurial image of fluent charm and tenderness.

An odd feeling it was.

Even that was an understatement.

 

 

She didn’t _want_ to kill him or his siblings. Hell, she wasn’t keen on killing anyone, Peggie, Resistance, or otherwise. Thus this sentiment has him recalling back to the time when her deep brown eyes had scanned the church upon entrance, arms glued to the side with stiff stride as she approached the altar. Throughout her spectating, John had also been rather observant, not at all failing to notice the cleverly concealed yet still barely discernible fear glimmering in the already bright iris.

 

 

As if ordained by orchestrated sync, verbal clangor erupted among the crowd, yet his brother was as calm as ever, demanding suzerain accordance. That blithering Marshal and Sheriff were urging her to “Cuff this sonuvabitch” but just moments before, whilst she ignored the chaos occurring, her focus had been directed to himself, as well as Jacob and Faith. Only acknowledging the other two in brief assessment, a strange prick had seized John’s skin amid that crucifixed incandescence, when their gaze met in an almost too intimate gesture of reunion. As if they were estranged in a way that didn’t necessitate decades, years, months, or even days to establish strong attachment.

 

 

He couldn’t tell if she was just unassuming or genuinely disinterested in the whole ordeal. Which essentially led to the question of _why_ she joined law enforcement in the first place.

Was it her decision?

Or was it simply as Joseph predicted, with her evincing as ‘the Lamb’, arriving just as expected to embark on breaking the Seven Seals?

 

 

Perhaps John could’ve sworn with wavering resolve that there was some artless innocence to suggest in her tentative motions to secure Joseph’s wrists in the cold metal, hints of warmth likely making the exchange less forbidding by cautious touch. She was certainly under the age of 25, he could deem that much to be true. No less than 20, minimum. And suddenly, he couldn’t prevent the instinct of protection. Even less so, yet still as pressing, of _possession_. It seemed to elevate in the jarring transition of stillness, her unfocused gaze now intent on a steady yet slow arrest, all eyes daggered on her in various sentiments of malice and wariness.

 

 

Small, and frankly unthreatening, she appeared through the uneasy shuffling, voices beginning to rise again as the two head enforcers moved to detain Joseph’s herd from unleashing a trodden path. A few utterances of assurance emitted into the drafty air and, moreover, the atmosphere was at once placid above rancored layers. The sheep were tended to leave yet those piercing stares only served to further John’s muted ascent to indulging his active sin.

 

 

Wrath tickled at the shells of his ears, tangible sounds descending to near muffled throbs as his pulse threatened to spike. He supposed it had only been exacerbated by the quick glance exchanged with Jacob. John knew better than to accept his speciously incurious perusal of the girl. There was something hidden in that wolfish raise of the brow when his head returned to the spectacle. John was both displeased yet vaguely intrigued by the jealous pang that surfaced upon this observance.

He was hard-pressed to admit that he didn’t agree with the promises of spite channeling towards her dainty size and ingenuous movement.

 

 

Leaving the three of them unattended, it was John who found himself walking with insensible tread, intense stare trained on her back as her gloved hands pressed light against Joseph’s shoulder and forearm, ushering through the door with two stray guards remaining severely stood at the entrance. If it hadn’t been for John’s approaching form, who knew what unspeakable act was to betide if her steps had faltered, tattered seams of his former self itching to shed anew into predatory genesis.

 

 

Leaden feet lead him to curb right at the threshold, merely watching her fade into the waning moonlight, made tarnished in atmosphere by incessant shouts by mutts in purebred guise, ready to attack at command.

 

 

A sharp intake of breath was all he could offer in response before turning on his heel and beckoning the two muttonheads to depart with a wave of his hand. The church was silent now, save for Jacob’s gruff laugh and whistling tenor.

 

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve taken a fancy to our little lamb, baby brother. I saw that look. Eyeing her up like a _Duncan_ special. Guess Holly’s spoiled meat now, huh.”

 

 

John was level in pace, settling to sit in the closest pew bench with legs crossed, arms lazed along the top. Smug bent tugs at the corners of his lips, watching intently as Jacob saunters back to his leaning position on the shadowed wall, Faith moving to tend to an array of flowers beneath the still radiance.

 

 

“Oh, everyone’s meat for you, Jacob. I can’t be the only one at fault. I’m sure Joseph was creaming his pants enough for us all now that his coveted augury is beginning to fulfill itself.”

 

 

“Hm. Blaspheming the father’s name? Tsk, tsk. _Rachel_ ,” he lilts. “What’s your take on all of this?”

 

 

The light brunette woman turns just so with a look of annoyance placed as she declares her indifference to the feeble confabulation.

 

 

“I’m Eve tending to her garden, minding her own, in the hopes that I won’t be blamed when you two decide to do a Cain and Abel reenactment.”

 

 

Both men aim to disregard her remark as the ginger-haired man continues.

 

 

“Well Johnny, you can’t be too far off with how engaged you two were. She was probably so lost in that seamy sea of yours, I won’t hesitate to call bullshit if you think she won’t come clamoring to your region first. You can leave the Duncan name behind but you ain’t escaping the man in the mirror.”

 

 

John stands then, palms melding to the bench before him while leaning forward.

 

 

“Is that what you tell yourself before bed while holed up in that slummy Veteran’s Center? Dark circles expanding at the sight of your reflection with Vietnam flashbacks? Except you were barely alive during that time and it was actually some unwarranted war in the Middle East where everyone turned a deaf ear. And now what do you have to show for it? Minor PTSD and a less than heroic token of a sniper rifle which _apparently_ wasn’t good enough to scope out your estranged brother when he was off alone in alleyways getting beaten within an inch of his life. ….They were your _real_ opponents.”

 

 

Jacob doesn’t bother wasting pleasantries as he storms to the middle of the platform, arms raised and outstretched to give emphasis to their surroundings.

 

 

“See this, John? These walls, these people? This county? Who funded Joseph’s vision to make it to this point? Was it Joseph? No. It was you. Has Joseph given you any credit for it? That’s another no. Seemed like our brother was doing just fine when he found us. Why are you getting all worked up about events that were out of my control?”

 

 

“ _You_ left us, Jacob! Only you! Joining the Army after juvie was a selfish decision, and you know it. I had no choice in being adopted but you had a chance to be there for at least one of us. ….But I guess that tough guy facade was always a lie. Did your fellow recruits realize how much of a coward you actually were on those frontlines, leaving them on the ground to fend for themselves while you were safe as a blind angel in the sky?”

 

 

The hulking man nearly hovered to the floorboards, skipping the step down entirely to take brisk stride to his youngest brother, towering over and shrouding the light from view as John met him halfway. Neither of them bore any true enmity in their heated glare but this presented a much needed, if not brief, moment of clarity and closure for them both.

 

“Quell your anger, brother….

I’m not the enemy here.”

 

 

“Neither is Joseph.”

 

 

“No one’s saying he is.”

 

 

“Are you two done rehearsing for the Testicle Festival? I’ve no idea how Joseph does it but I think-“

 

 

An eruption in the distance quaked the church’s foundation, abruptly cutting off Rachel’s riposte.

 

 

It took a few seconds to register but a resounding, timorous _No_ in John’s mind prompted him to run to the double doors, bursting through to the now sulfuric mist and metallic scents flooding the air. He almost shrugs off the rigid grasp on his shoulder until Jacob’s harsh voice rises above the instance of maelstrom dispersing.

 

 

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?! Joseph’s fine! It’s all according to plan, remember?! Come on!”

 

 

Jacob begins dragging a staggered John back by the collar of his trench coat. Back to the safety of the Compound’s singular refuge.

 

 

“.....Boy, that girl’s really must’ve done a number on you. Don’t even lie and say you were concerned with Joseph’s wellbeing. You knew this was supposed to happen. And even if there was a fuckup, you were just going to blindly go out into the crossfire?!”

 

 

Labored breaths and traces of adrenaline scattered and merged with choirs of howls and explosions belying the Compound’s remote borders.

 

 

“I- ….I don’t know.  

I wasn’t thinking.

….Forgive me.”

 

 

“Don’t apologize.

….Trust me when I say she’s fine. If she wasn’t important, we’d know if she’d be dead by now and I’m sure Joseph wouldn’t have suffered us through that hammy sermon.”

 

 

“More so than usual”, Rachel mutters under her breath.

 

 

“Now,” Jacob inflects while settling a hand on John’s shoulder.

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t you have a flight to catch?”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to note that I had to revisit Joseph’s Compound and find the crash site because I forgot there was still some area greyed out for me in that region, which happened to be where you start escaping and reach the Holmes’ residence, etc. If some of what happens here reflects my frustration with the order of events, having to revise for it to make even remote sense.... there you go ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

 

 

 

Tremors of hormone-induced animation skittered along the pathways of every nerve ending as John sprints a fiery trail around back of the church to a group of idle Peggies.

 

 

“The fuck are you doing standing around?! Ready my truck! Get us to the ranch!”, the gravel of his tongue demands.

 

 

As servile lapdogs, they break from trance and move to shield him, but not before skidding to a halt halfway as one speaks out, appearing as a deer in headlights.

 

 

“But sir…

There’s a boat right there.”

 

 

The blank stare they receive is baleful in its casual vacancy.

 

 

At this, they question no further, throwing their arms around in insulation, beginning to march in unerring sync along what felt like a battleground.

 

 

 _Must be new,_ John muses. He’d have to save this act of submission for yet another sullen episode. Where his sense of control was thought to be insufficient.

 

 

Flames blazed within spaces of his obscured vision, Molotovs thrown in haste and outrage. Further scampering led the four men to a chorus of raucous chants, made harmonized by one distinctive, almost seraphic voice. It was all John could be granted to guarantee his brother’s safety. The noises were beginning to fade as they passed the gates, drifting further away from the distant sight of Joseph standing proudly upon a vehicle near the wreckage, a number of cultists surrounding, some remaining to praise their savior, while others were off detaining dazed deputies. If only he could have witnessed one in particular, scurrying quickly away from an onslaught of spraying bullets.

 

 

If anything, this salient instrument of chain reaction only spurred his desire to act as he swiftly ejects from his makeshift shelter, occupying the front seat of his personal pickup and igniting the engine in one practiced instant. The three men were left stumbling in kicks of dust as he punches the accelerator and skids off across the empty dirt road, offering no spare glances to the ensuing mayhem.

 

 

His journey to cross the Compound’s entrance, fleeing the island’s boundaries, was suspended midway as he eases just so on the pedal. If his sixth sense bore any truth, those keen peripherals would have netted a fleeting glimpse of a tiny figure crouching stealthily towards a small cabin near the lumber mill, shovel gleaming slightly against lamplight as they sneak from behind to deal a critical blow to the unsuspecting guard.

 

 

The short huff and small smile twitching at his lips confirms his combined sensory faculty and amusement.

 

 

 _So you_ **_are_ ** _fearless._

 

 

Approaching the bridge leading to the Henbane, John’s attention diverts instead to the walkie talkie sitting in the passenger’s seat. Finger pads fit to the gnarled grooves, channeling to his ranch’s frequency.

 

 

“....Is the Affirmation running?”

 

 

“ _Yes sir, she’s purrin_ _’ to go. Ya need any more air support?”_

 

 

“I **_am_** the air support”, he sounds off.

 

 

Instrumental acoustic of “Oh John” served a therapeutic distraction as he speeds off into the silent night, eager to afford one final interaction with Hope County’s infamous woman of the hour.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Volunteering as a Junior Deputy for her Criminology seminar was quite possibly the _worst_ decision Rook’s made in her growing list of nagging indecisions. Not even an hour had passed and her first duties spelled _literal_ death and destruction.

 

 

She couldn’t help the phrase _Then perish_ rushing to mind as the fairly tall and lean man (who apparently was a very Bohemian, if not laughably modern, impression of Jesus) uttered “ _God will not let you take me_ ” as his bare arms and torso were offered willingly towards arrest. _Actually_ killing anyone was far beyond her capacity or determination. Despite the guy appearing as if he behested emergency deodorant, there was no way she’d be able to lodge a bullet through those designer shades, essentially ruining that otherwise attractive mug of his.

 

 

Questionable thoughts were basically commonplace at this point in her early adulthood so images of sex, violence, and general vulgarity weren’t at all offensive or denied, but it never reflected who she was in reality. The person she presented to the public eye was innocent and begrudgingly shy. Although, it was more subconscious then a conscious act. She was overall modest in comportment, wanting nothing more than to evade the spotlight, drawing no unwanted attention to herself.

 

 

Her inhibitions had surprisingly deigned to retire in the moments preceding where her curious yet fretful gaze chanced upon three figures approaching from shadows on either side from behind, aiming to fixate solely upon the one form standing elevated on the platform. He was much more handsome than the man stood before her. Conventional in the sense of bearing a near objective beauty to most acknowledging eyes. He was definitely her type with the dark, slicked hair, light eyes, perfectly trimmed (if not a bit uneven) beard, and impeccable fashion sense.

(That trench coat was tawdry in the best way.)

 

 

The brawny man to the left was still fetching, with his rugged imperfections in the form of scattered scars accented by a lovely curl to top off the undercut of ginger head and protruding ears. It also helped that he looked well over 6 feet (tall men were a weakness, of course). However, it was all Rook could admit as her focus remained enraptured by the intense azul that seemed equally bewitched by her (much to her pleasure yet inherent terror).

 

 

She briefly wondered if he could discern a faint blush, even through her fairly swarthy complexion. But he gave nothing away through his phlegmatic features. She became increasingly uncomfortable under his lingering stare, but it was an odd, welcoming caress in the mutable waves of apprehension.

 

 

“Rook. _Cuff_ this sonuvabitch.”

 

 

She didn’t visibly express it but the behest uttered from Burke’s mouth left a transient image of the Waka Flocka “Okay” meme bemusing the otherwise tense and foreboding atmosphere. If it had been her choice, she would have opted to hold her ground and endure the urgency of quietude and prickling wounds of scopophobia as she leaves this “Joseph Seed” building upper arm strength, waiting for an undue amount of time as he and the Marshal break quiet occasionally, until the Sheriff finally offers relief with “ _Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone_ ”.

 

 

Nevertheless, assertion and puissance were not her forte, and with head hung low to avoid acute scrutiny, she obliged her obligation. A simple act that conducts the choristers to sing once more with indignation.

 

 

_Oh great. Target the short, 105 pound girl with baby face for days. Because she definitely looks like she could sucker punch without warning...._

 

 

As if they were petulant children causing disturbance at recess, _The Father_ ushers them to retreat with extended equanimity and reassurance.

 

 

 _Well, that’s annoying_ _. Nice voice but the holier-than-thou tone would make even the pope’s pecker weep in blue ball purgatory._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The stroll back to the helicopter was anxiously uneventful, despite that edging stroke of doom inching dangerously close with each leaden step and ghosting dagger at her back. Cameron was being the typical pit bull he was, provoking some cultists with barking aggression and alpha stance. Maybe she could empathize with Whitehorse and see it as an average day picking up his delinquent kid from school. It made the entire exchange a little less daunting. Just a tad less embarrassing as she switches seats with Joey, chary to strap the man bun preacher into the leather opposite.

 

 

Rotor blades were starting to pivot and Pratt’s lax form in shotgun turned to give her a not so affirming glance, instead seeming to pronounce her true feelings of _country roads take me home._

Away from this shitshow.

 

 

That alone must have been the expected cue as they were barely a few good feet from the ground before some idiot launches himself at the landing skids, another bald head following in his stead before they both fell leisurely to the earth.

 

 

_Hair aerodynamics?_

 

Flight Training 101 did not prepare her for this hornet’s nest.

 

 

To sprinkle on more absurdity, the offender in question began to lilt in his ethereal cadence, hushed melody of Amazing Grace homogenizing with the dins of screeching motors and spiraling sensations of bedlam until merging into one cathartic release of

 

 

 _What the_ **_actual_ ** _fuck._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“.....I told you God wouldn’t let you take me.”

 

 

_Uh yes, that’s fine._

_Can God give me a chance to come to._

 

 

In any other scenario, Rook would have perhaps been contented with the somehow attractively scuzzy, if not annoyingly smug, face focusing into vision but with heat tickling unbearably from all sides and blood rushing to her head, her survival instinct was beginning to kickstart as he moves to leave a pair of dangling headphones as company.

 

 

Hudson could be heard moaning softly to her side, still arrested in daze and Rook could do little but stare insistently until an _un_ attractively scuzzy cultist arrives to unbuckle her restraints and abscond with her limp form. Voices filled the returning spaces of sound as she’s finally aware enough to discern gunshots in the background, hands fumbling with the jammed buckle before crawling as a vulnerable newborn, maneuvering around the wreckage to get a head start from spates of stray ammunition whizzing past her ears. 

 

 

 _Let’s not hire_ **_any_ ** _of these hippies as bounty hunters. ‘Wanted Alive’ apparently still translates to a riddled corpse._

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the last thing she thinks before vanishing briefly into a thinning veil of fog and fireflies.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

Crickets chirped tenaciously in the muggy night air. She could barely see ahead until the ground disappeared and the moon shone instead above a small body of water, just a few feet below.

 

 

 _Fuck_.

She doesn’t give any second thoughts as she runs back to take the alternate trail. She couldn’t swim, and drowning was the last way she’d want to die, with crazy cultists feasting on her remains in some sacred ritual.

 

 

Her stamina was undoubtedly fucked, breaths running on reserve, but she was finally spared respite as a light flickered upon approach, illuminating a lone figure, oblivious to the scuffling sounds of her crouching through brush, stumbling upon a conveniently placed shovel hidden in a shrub.

 

 

She wasn’t too keen about it but it was either her or them so, with reasonably perspired palms, her grasp on wood was a pleasure well transferred as the guy groans (maybe in ecstasy laced pain) before slumping to the ground. The brain housed a reward center after all, and Rook thought he could use a little blood flow in that region, regardless.

That is, if he wasn’t completely removed from consciousness.

 

 

Making a pit stop through the shack to gather any necessary items, she quickly returns to the flaccid body, having the option to carry and dispose of her slack work from wandering eyes. A short trail leading to a river, merging with the aforementioned tarn, catches her eye as she drags the mass with considerable effort to a lit fire and two chairs, suppressing a chortle as the man’s limp head was thrown carelessly back per his now slumped position in one of the chairs, mouth wide open in a mock gesture of snoring, practically inviting a family of flies.

 

 

The original search party had likely exhausted their objective as the air was unduly silent following her trek past the shack to another lit fire and what seemed to be three or four figures surrounding. Concealed by shade, she runs up to the small lookout tower, ascending the ladder and crouching to the abutting wall, unveiling a pair of binoculars and surveying the spectacle to assess a (foolhardy) strategy.

 

 

“You’re welcome to join us, girlie! If Joseph says we can’t kill ya, we ain’t gonna kill ya. But, don’t mean we can’t have some fun.”

 

 

The guy had spoken loud enough for her to hear and imply that they’ve been alerted to her presence. However, they remain idle and composed, not once diverting their attention to her still barely discernible form above.

 

 

_Uhhh….._

 

 

“Come _onn_ , missy. We got this campfire goin’ real nice for ya. Just slide on down and forget about this whole fiasco.”

 

 

Oh, she slides down alright. As soon as her feet touched green again, she immediately makes a break down an unmarked trail, not once slowing at the realisation that they weren’t following.

 

 

“Well damn, am I really that fearsome?”, the man remarks to his buddies at her departure.

 

 

“No.

Just ugly.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The trail bisects and merges to one as Rook walks along to witness a real estate sign reading “Home For Sell By Owner” with an added “Desperate” just beneath. A billowing black flag with cult logo is casual in the leisurely absence of wind, fairly long wooden bridge leading to said home: a fairly unremarkable dwelling save for a sole wind turbine for roofing ventilation. Although it was clearly exhausting smoke instead of transparent air particles.

 

 

_That can’t be good._

 

 

She decides to take her time traversing the walkway, appreciating the scenery from either side. Of nature asserting her dominance, in more ways than one. While the great outdoors was still a foreign, unsettling landscape for her, Rook took exceptional pride in this moment to absorb the fact that she was here, alone, braving the weather and harsh conditions of this increasingly oppressive environment, not knowing whether her next seconds would spell an early grave. It only fuelled the adrenaline and excitement. No one could scold her here for wandering off unattended, reprimanded as the child they chose to see because her passive and mousy mask deceived them.

 

 

However, as she ambles closer to the vacant abode, various log bundles offering residence, the sudden absence of movement apprised her towards vivid awareness. The feeling of eyes on her, waiting for this opportune moment to strike at her most vulnerable, pushed her to make haste to the back door.

 

 

If these walls could talk, they’d be merciless in sending her into a downward spiral of self-loathing and consternation. A nervous laugh tickles the silence, puffs a mist of wavering assurance to the door’s narrowed window, numb palms feeling along the walls to maneuver backwards until a warm and urgent contact of flesh and voice nearly has her jumping out of her skin.

 

 

“Jesus Christ! Rook… I’m sorry. I thought they got you…. come on! Come on.”

 

 

The Marshal ushers her to check a room and she peeks in mock concern because really. If anyone was hiding there, her and that idiot would have long been popped with the glock.

 

 

“Oh Jesus! I had no idea… Fuck!”

 

 

She follows him to the main space as he moves to point at a portrait on the wall depicting the Seeds in some happy family shot.

 

 

“We’re putting this whole family away. All of ‘em. Fucking lunatics!”

 

 

 **_Hot_ ** _lunatics. But, yes, let’s go with that._

 

 

“We’re gonna get outta this, Rookie.”

 

 

A 9mm rifle hanging on the opposite wall catches his interest next as he loads and hands the heavy weight to her, a look of sheer dread now painting her features. He grabs her by the arm and they move to crouch near the window looking out to the road, barking growls inching closer in pack formation.

 

 

“Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do. There’s a road out there. We’re gonna take it, head northeast. Probably only a few hours back to Missoula. And then, we’re gonna come back here with the goddamn National Guard and we’re gonna take out the rest of these-“

 

 

“Came around this way! Check inside.”

 

 

“Okay…. Shhhh-“

 

 

He doesn’t have to say it twice before a rock comes flying through the adjacent glass as she wields her weapon with ill-equipped clutch, sending an unspoken prayer to whatever deity her grandmother would blather routinely every night at her bedside.

 

 

There was a pickup truck just outside near the garage that she’d spotted before and her first thought was to just crash through the only remaining intact window, making a break, with the Marshal (hopefully) not too far behind. Being the brash peacock he was, plans didn’t go as smoothly as she’d thought. Her uniform negated any notable damage upon impact, and she did take shelter before the vehicle’s front but that damn Burke was taking his sweet time, exiting through the door as swarms of Peggies took shelter behind the logs, not yet detecting her but still demanding she take action as the man in question couldn’t withstand alone.

 

 

So she shoots her shot (literally) and admittedly relishes the fact that not one bullet has so much as grazed her as Burke finally makes it to his designated driver’s seat, herself already in shotgun, shooting farewell ammo as they advance into further unknowns.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Rook really isn’t in the right headspace nor mood to fully heed Burke’s concern for her safety as well as thanks because “he’d be dead if it weren’t for her”. She’s leaning out the window like a dog enjoying the highway breeze but they’re going 90 mph in the heat of night with fumes and shrapnel lapping away at her contact-sheathed eyes and these country roads were like a legion of old cat ladies scorned.

 

 

“....we don’t know who we can trust.

 _Fucking Nancy_.”

 

 

_That’s it._

_All their names (cat and woman) in one melting pot of Hell._

 

 

“Oh no… oh no, they got the roads blocked.”

 

 

She’s still simmering in seething gusts but her vision was rewarded with the sight of pink clouds rocketing to the smogged skies, signalling reinforcements for the scattered ants.

 

 

Truck after truck, bullet after bullet. If she had half a mind in that pressing time, she would’ve cracked a joke about how they may as well have been in Mario Kart. At this point, her luck was starting to run out as an unmistakable poke in her chest suggested shots trying to penetrate the vest.

 

 

The thrills and delirium of the situation has each teasing of pain reeling as pink elephants through the noise of blurring hues and cries but the one illustration that captivates her whim for mania is an archangel of indigo rank, strafing its ham-fisted wrath onto the moving plank. The nose was pointed flush in their direction but no strain of artillery had managed to hit them.

Was the pilot even trying?

 

 

“Oh! Don’t tell me these fuckers have air support!”

 

 

Apparently only one was on duty. Can’t really call it support when the guy shoots his shot and leaves in the same stroke.

 

 

“You motherfucking psychopaths! You-“

 

 

Obviously, she’d spoken too soon as the same plane from before dips back around to fire again, and, to no surprise, misses their mark for a second time. Interestingly, it seemed they were purposely blitzing damage to their own alliance.

 

 

Droves of trucks kept flocking in front and behind and they were halfway across a suspension bridge (adorned by strange YES tapestries) before the plane circles a final time. This time the mark was unswerving and resolute and the next thing she knows is a blindingly white flash of light exploding through perception.

 

 

She almost had to repress a snigger of amusement, with the random flicker of image manifesting, of a certain trench coat and its plane print design she’d stored in mind.

 

 

_It couldn’t be._

 

 

The windshield was strewn off course and a sense of wild panic widened her eyes in the same unyielding blow as a flood of fright deluged her waning optimism in the not so buoyant lagoon of abiding darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’ve been exhausting the canon events but I wanted to find a good waypoint to start doing my own thing, so I guess finally this is where things start to happen.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_My children._

_We must give thanks to God._

_The day I have prophesied to you has arrived._

_Everything I’ve told you has come true…._

_The authorities who tried to take me from you are now in the loving embrace of my Family…._

_save for one._

 

_But this Wayward Soul will be found._

_They will be punished…._

_and in the end, they will see our glorious purpose._

 

_I am your Father._

_You are my Children._

_And together,_

_we will march to-_

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You know what this shit means?”

 

 

 _No..., what_ **_does_ ** _it mean, strange bald man with goatee._

 

 

 _“_ It means all the roads have been closed. It means the phone lines have been cut. It means there’s no signals getting in or out of this valley.”

 

 

_Yes, yes. Could we at least accept the cutting of me from this chair._

 

 

“But mostly. It means we’re all fucked.”

 

 

_That, we are._

 

 

“The goddamn “Collapse”.... they all think the world’s coming to an end, now. They’ve been waiting for it. For years.”

 

 

_Judging by where we are now? A bunker? Can’t be too far off the bullseye._

 

 

“Waiting for somebody to come along and fulfill their _prophecy_ and kick off their goddamn Holy War.”

 

 

_Who? Little ol’ me?_

 

 

“Well, you sure as shit kicked….”

 

 

_Huh. That, I did._

 

 

“The smartest thing for me to do would just be to hand you over.”

 

 

_….I’d be down for that…_

_So long as it’s pretty boy taking the reigns and not slightly refined David Koresh._

 

 

“Fuck…”

 

 

Warily, Rook glances up and down at the man rising to unsheathe a pocket knife, thinking maybe he’d conceded to finish the deed himself.

 

 

_Great. If I had to drown, why not have left me in the water…. not a pool of my own blood._

 

 

“Get out of that uniform…”

 

 

_Wait, how old are you again?_

_And most importantly… can you still get it in?_

 

 

“We need to burn it.”

 

 

_Oh…_

_Right._

 

 

 _“_ There’s some fresh clothes there.

When you get changed, you come and see me.”

 

 

_If nothing else, this man is contender for having the most intense stare. Poor guy probably hasn’t had a good lay since his Army days._

 

 

“We’ll see if we can _un_ -fuck this situation.”

 

 

_Just as I thought._

_Buddy, unfucking is the last thing we’d want for you._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What’s the nearest route to John Seed’s location?”

 

 

Dutch diverts his attention from the radios to peruse her form in the red lighting, a worn pair of Hope County baseball shorts and shirt adorning her person. She stares back insistently, trying to convey her genuine interest in answer.

 

 

“Rook…. Ya can’t just _waltz_ into enemy territory…

Givin’ yourself a deathwish so soon?”

 

 

“Not if we see it as more of a sacrifice. Dibé means ‘Lamb’ on my father’s side of ancestry. I’m not entirely well-versed on Navajo tradition but suppose I willingly offer myself. _I’m_ the main pawn in this prophecy. Withholding the prize seems a bit counterintuitive.”

 

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve already grown a soft spot for these sickos. Do I have to flick that little forehead to remind you of which side you’re fighting on?”

 

 

“No, and, frankly, I don’t much care to take a stance. These guys are lost souls. Just as lost as anyone else, seeking solace from past traumas. They still have the option to see reason and consider a different path.”

 

 

“I knew you were naive, but I didn’t think you’d be _this_ wet behind the ears. You think just givin’ them what they want will guarantee immediate safety for all these innocent people? What exactly is your grand plan, anyway? Sneakin’ into Seed Ranch undetected as a friendly face?”

 

 

_Uh *dot dot dot* Yes?_

 

 

“Look. I know I’m new here, and probably don’t have much of a say-“

 

 

“You don’t.”

 

 

“....I’m surprising even myself by being this vocal!”

 

 

Rook’s expression was almost pleading. She had never really taken well to being interrupted and it felt like a repeat of the injustice at home where her voice was a snubbed cigarette snuffing out the last strand of worth on the grit and gravel of those worn strips of pavement.

 

 

Dutch sighs, closes his eyes and nods his head in admission.

 

 

“I’m not looking to be a hero. And could we maybe even spare matching our “enemy’s” hypocrisy. I’m sure you also aren’t keen about encouraging yet another battlefield re-enactment, nor is adhering to monochrome standards something that keeps the old Johnson alive.”

 

 

Dutch’s lids fly open at this remark, raising a brow in pale humor.

 

 

“Anyway…”

 

 

She turns to approach the bulletin board, surveying the faces plastered there in a gesture of commiseration and retention for the brief and besmirching illustrations of who they are.

 

 

“I just… don’t want to be restrained anymore. Doesn’t mean I’m trying to prove myself. Because I know who I am. But having had multiple near-death experiences in the span of 12 hours, I guess the real me can say that I’m not so much numbed by mortality but rather embracing of it.”

 

 

Dutch is looking at her now with head held high, when Dibé turns, offering a final deciding impression of sincerity.

 

 

“Isn’t the entire goal to go to your grave with nothing else except for the knowledge that you’ve done all you can to change this shitty world for the better? ….If even in a frivolous way?”

 

 

A few seconds of enduring stillness reverberated throughout the confines save for crackling static.

 

 

“....Alright.

I’m not fully convinced with this sudden…. _whim_ . But… whatever’s churnin’ in that mind has to be _somewhat_ sound, if the big heart has anything to say about it.”

 

 

“You think I’m a softie now, don’t you?”

 

 

“Speaking candidly, I don’t really know _what_ to make of ya… but, ya sure as hell haven’t rubbed me the wrong way.”

 

 

_That’s essentially what we’ve been aiming for._

 

 

“Alright then. Guess you’re all settled in this course of action so I won’t be utterin’ any more dissent, even _when_ you manage to fuck up.”

 

 

_Gee, thanks for believing in me._

 

 

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

 

 

“I’ll be here if ya need me. Keep that walkie talkie on your hip at all times and stay alert because God forbid you think just ‘cause Joseph wants you alive means that his damn herd won’t come at ya guns blazin’.”

 

 

“...Showering me in the Father’s love?”

 

 

Dibé offers an awkward smile to diffuse the gravity.

 

 

“By the time you make it to Jacob’s region, I’ll have radioed Eli. Have him catch wind of your redesign. That way, if they see you fraternizin’ with our opposition, I don’t have to worry about Tammy leavin’ handprints around your neck.”

 

 

_Don’t trifle with Tammy. Noted._

 

 

“Fall’s End… is your territory. The Whitetails are more familiar with me and I with them but the people in that town haven’t always been too receptive of outsiders, regardless of how long I’ve been here. You’re gonna have to work your charm and convince them because they sure as shit ain’t gonna take kindly to me referring to the newcomer as a Panglossian defector.”

 

 

Dibé puts her hand forth in assent, waiting for the man to seize in exchange. The Veteran looks down for a moment, arms still folded, lips almost curling in amusement at how demure she appeared in the harsh contrast of crimson. The warm mold of their palms was a comforting hue in likeness.

 

 

“Well… John and Jacob are covered. Anyone I should worry about in Faith’s region?”

 

 

“Considerin’ how much of a handful she is, that should be your answer. There’s a couple of good folk livin’ there that I’m sure you’ll get along with.”

 

 

She nods and takes a deep breath before moving to depart and prepare for this impromptu journey.

 

 

“Just curious about one thing…”

He adds before she makes it through the threshold.

 

 

“Don’t get me wrong. Holland Valley should be the easiest place for you to start off with but you seem especially motivated to confront the man of the land. Remind you of some unspoken lover?”

 

 

“Ehh… you could say that.”

 

 

She doesn’t reveal anything more as she scampers off, leaving the man engulfed by muted voices in missing frequency.

 

 

Dutch sighs to himself.

 

 

 

“Addie….

I’ll be damned.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

 

After stocking up on ammunition (what scarce items were left, at least) and liberating Dutch’s island (which wasn’t liberating at all considering she’s just killed even more people, much to her growing displeasure), Dibé was off to scour Holland Valley, in search of the town of Fall’s End, where, hopefully, _someone_ wouldn’t mind escorting her to the infamous John Seed.

 

 

She had driven herself.

_The anarchy and gall of it all._

Initially, the tunes were dreadful to her ears. That “Oh John” choir was nails on chalkboard, quite frankly. She was hoping there were remixes of the song. An instrumental or simple acoustic would have soothed the otherwise aching plea for something beyond those screeching sopranos.

 

 

“Help Me Faith” was marginally better in chorus but, as it were, none of the original compositions bade well, so she ultimately deigned to ride in silence save for the occasional reckless driver pulling out of a random road and nearly ejecting her through the windshield. She had tuned off the radio right as the song closed and thought how befitting it was with Faith actually being a shield.

 

 

A number of limited road trips in her buried youth rewarded her with miles of countryside, and the open acres of Montana didn’t fail to disappoint, belated rays of noon scorching empty skies. A muted ode to Icarus in the dying Summer light.

 

 

_The Spread Eagle._

 

 

A neon lit sign refracting the Sun’s glinting face with promiscuous woman spreading literal wings as the core fusion of interest.

 

 

It was a fairly quaint burg, as far as Dibé’s eye could see. Like a modernized Old Western town retaining the bumfuck magnetism. One or two dilapidated houses lay in singed ruins on either side, accentuating the otherwise structured and polished expanse of buildings. To her left, the enticing tavern in question, ironically neighboured a considerable yet still close distance to a nearby church.

 

 

To her right, an unidentified storefront and water tower in the distance with town namesake.

 

 

A scruffy looking dog was idling on the porch of the tavern but that was all the animation offered on the otherwise deserted streets.

 

 

The park near the ramshackle house was somehow eerily quiet as she exits and makes her way cautiously to the entrance, stopping before one of the glass viewings to see a sea of faces mingling in the tenebrous lighting.

 

 

A congenial voice invites her into the tidy dive bar, upon pealing entry.

 

 

“Ah! Looks like we got a new face.

Welcome to Fall’s End, darlin’.

What can I do ya for?”

 

 

A few timid glances span the area before she musters the courage to speak.

 

 

“....I’m looking for John Seed.”

 

 

In a matter of seconds, weapons were aimed in her direction. Much like the meme image of that smirking cat with knives surrounding.

Hilariously so.

 

 

The blonde woman behind the counter is the only one in the establishment who remains unarmed, expression of pale hospitality morphing to annoyance as she rolls her eyes and flaps her hands in a winging motion.

 

 

“Alright, alright! Settle down! The hell’s wrong with y’all, pointin’ guns at a defenseless girl.”

 

 

“Ain’t so defenseless from where I’m standin’. This is why we need guards on either end of every intersection, Mary. What if she’s a decoy and some Peggies are here to ambush us? All because you’re too goddamn trusting.”

 

 

“Casey… I hope you realize where you’re pointin’ that rifle. Go ahead and blow my ear off, if you’re up to it.”

 

 

The man named Casey alternates a glance between the two before reluctantly lowering his weapon back behind the window from where he stands. Something gamy was sizzling on the grill, searing to an unsavory char of spoiled dinner.

 

 

Mary gives a panoramic look to the remaining men and women, a penetrating gaze that has them following suit.

 

 

“Jerome… escort everyone to the church, if you don’t mind. Don’t want to make our guest anymore uncomfortable than necessary.”

 

 

A man she hadn’t noticed appears from a shadowed corner, also unarmed, with a Bible held firm in stead, dressed in priest fabrics.

 

 

“I’d be glad to, Mary.”

 

 

He motions politely towards the closest door and a chorus of grumbling complaints fill the air as they shuffle out single file, the priest giving a curt nod as he follows close behind.

 

 

“ _Casey….”_

 

 

“I’m slavin’ over a hot stove and you want me to leave it unattended?” Incredulity paints his features.

 

 

Mary continues to glance over her shoulder, waiting with surprising patience.

 

 

“ _Fine_.”

 

 

He maneuvers around to the bar’s countertop, getting unexpectedly close to Dibé all the while ignoring as he points a non-threatening finger towards Mary.

 

 

“If my Testy Festy is delayed so much as even a day, it’s comin’ outta _your_ salary.”

 

 

The woman offers an exhausted sigh.

 

 

“Casey, _I_ own the place.”

 

 

A brusque chime at the door is all the two women receive in reply.

 

 

“Can’t say I apologize for these idiots. You don’t seem like the type to dwell on mishaps. I can tell you’ve been in Rich’s company.”

 

 

“Rich?”

 

 

“Sorry. _Dutch_. I’m used to callin’ him by his real name. Or, in this case, a nickname.”

 

 

“How’d you guess that?”

 

 

“Didn’t have to. He’s the only person who still holds on to the county’s signature baseball uniform, as far as I know. Has a son back home who’s a fan. The uniform’s pretty rare after being discontinued due to _The Father_ ’s decree of the outfit being _sacrilegious_ , or whatever cult commandment they abide by.”

 

 

The darkened area in the far back is where her destination leads, disappearing behind a wall before peeking back out as a sign to follow, otherwise animating her static form.

 

 

“Well, come on. I ain’t gonna bite. Just want to talk a bit in my office. Also, get you in more presentable attire.

….If you’re really serious about the previous inquiry, that is.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“So let me get this straight. You’ve taken a fancy to one of our town terrorists and think you can redeem him, along with his army, so as to _not_ terrorize us.”

 

 

The blonde woman, who Dibé now was able to refer to as ‘Mary May’, asserts more as a statement rather than a question.

 

 

“Do you ever really know who the bad guy is?”, she responds, almost distantly.

 

 

“Oh Lord….

Tell you what. You seem sweet and all, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but if you really want to go through with this, he’s either hangin’ around in that ranch of his or his designated bunker. Considering one of your friends is taken hostage by him, the latter would be your winning ticket. Based on intel, his bunker isn’t heavily guarded from the outside but you’re likely running on thin ice with the whole attraction thing. You seem like a pretty smart girl so I assume you won’t be rushing in armed at the ready.”

 

 

She pulls a sheet of paper from her desk drawer and slides it in the middle, an illustration of a flower adorning the print with various notes of schematics decorating.

 

 

“ _This”,_ she highlights, “is called Bliss. I’ve had firsthand experience with that asshole myself and him trying to roofie me with my own choice poison. Says it was punishment for not closing down the bar and ceasin’ alcohol consumption. As you can probably see, Prohibition is alive and well. Although, I’m sure you can talk your “husband” to be out of pretense. Slap some sense into that bonny face of his.”

 

 

“Thank you”, is all Dibé can grant, despite the questions simmering. Before she can move to stand and leave, Mary May is quick to slide around the desk and press a hand on her lower back to usher her out.

 

 

“Eager little mouse, aren’t ya? Don’t worry none about those imbeciles in the church. I’ll clear everything up. Just don’t want you going out on your own and gettin’ assaulted.”

 

 

They make it through the entrance, Dibé pointing her in the direction of her interim transport as she continues.

 

 

“Also, as I was saying… John’s gonna be searching for you and, along with that sister of his, a Bliss bullet will be their weapon of choice. A joke of a drug to further satisfy their cant for lauding sobriety.”

 

 

The car pans into view and Mary May stops in her tracks, marveling at the craftsmanship. It was an average Sedan model. Just one of many of the same variants of vehicles representing a cult VIP’s trademark ride. _Sinner_ was written in white paint on the hood and red paint was splattered on the passenger’s seat, representing blood, no doubt.

 

 

“Wow.

Guess I was right when I said you were smart.”

 

 

Dibé shares a knowing glance with the alluring woman, who oddly beared vague resemblance to the Spread Eagle’s coveted mascot. She smirks at her through the exposed window, engine purring with hot rod refrain.

 

 

 

 

“You _really_ know how to craft a disguise.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling very confident about this chapter.  
> "We're finally getting somewhere" (I say while dissociating). :-)

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey asshole. Are you gonna torture me, or what? Because your knot tying skills are severely lacking. What’s stopping me from slipping loose and shoving that tattoo needle up your ass?”

 

 

“Slipping loose from _what_ , my dear? That crass tongue?”

 

 

“I swear when Rook comes to rescue me-“

 

 

“What is she like?!”

 

 

“....What?”

 

 

“ _The Rookie”,_ John snaps. “ _Tell me about her.”_

 

 

“Oh no... leave Dibé out of this. If you so much as _touch_ her, I’ll-“

 

 

He tsks at her withdrawal of information, brusquely cutting her off. Although the impetuous name reveal was quick to encourage him.

 

 

“My dear Hudson-“

 

 

“ _Don’t_ call me _dear.”_

 

 

 _“Sin_ … is pervasive. It _drives_ us to _unspeakable_ acts.”

 

 

His eyes dimmed through expanding shadow in the splaying crimson luster, shimmering as stripes against his ambling form.

 

 

“This girl…

This…. _deputy_ …”

An index finger wags in the air.

 

 

“Is a _new_ sin.”

 

 

He bends forward to level with her face, hands resting on his thighs as a parent stooping to coddle a toddler.

 

 

Joey collects as much saliva as she can before lobbing a medium-sized wad of spit into his face, darting just beneath his left eyelid before slipping down as an imitating teardrop.

 

 

He simply gives a throaty chuckle in response, unmoving from stance as he darts his tongue out to trail the tip along what little of the substance he could reach, tickling his cheek with slow trickle.

 

 

“Fresher than what spills from another pair, I’d say.”

 

 

“...You’re insane.”

 

 

Arms fold firmly against his chest as he rises, brows furrowed in brief deliberation.

 

 

“If you let me have her….

I’ll let you free”, he lilts as if it’s the most obvious decree.

 

 

“No confessions…

No trouble from my men.

You walk out of here without any essence spilled.

Any _flesh_ excoriated.

Just her.

Is all I want.”

 

 

 

“ **No**.”

 

 

 

John clenches his jaw, eyes flickering with tacit ire, whilst backing away into a cloaking space of gloom.

 

 

“I’m still allowing you to leave here unscathed, because I’m _that_ generous. But I’m afraid you’ve now brought this surveillance party on yourself.”

 

 

An abrupt and resounding clap causes Joey to flinch as the sound of marching footsteps approach in the form of two armed cultists ascending the stairs.

 

 

“Keep the chair. It’s the only vehicle I’ll spare you so move those wheels wisely. Slip loose as soon as you reunite with your ‘Resistance’.”

 

 

A languid wave of the hand through pale shaft of light has the two guards sheathing their weapons and moving to either side of her person, grasping each chair arm at the ready.

 

 

“Your objections are a blight, Joey. The deputy will arrive at my beck and call. I have my _methods_.”

 

 

One flick of the head towards the steps is all needed as the three were now hasty in descent. John is heedless to the bidding string of expletives, gaze hardened in the lurid radiance when he turns back to flesh riddled board and table scarred by various instruments of torment, gripping the edge and breathing deeply as he contemplates his next course of action.

 

 

The object he procures from his back pocket emits a square of white light to rival the rich cardinal as a single dial tone lingers.

 

 

“Jacob speaking.”

 

 

John has to repress yet another eye roll since the crude introduction of that spitfire woman.

 

 

“You _know_ who this is. Why the formality?”

 

 

“What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t get those plane boxers twisted?”

 

 

“...You don’t have my name in your contacts, do you?”

 

 

“I don’t. But that’s besides the point.”

 

 

“I think you’ve exhausted the primitive aesthetic. Trade that flip phone for a smartphone and use what’s _left_ of your faculty to be tech savvy.”

 

 

“Yeah? How’s that workin’ out for ya. Doesn’t seem like the ‘smart’ effects have transferred to you yet.”

 

 

“Is there any news on the Deputy’s whereabouts? She _should_ be off that Veteran’s island, right?”

 

 

“I don’t know. Didn’t know my aggregation of mountains could now be considered an island.”

 

 

John leaves the line silent.

 

 

“Relax. I know you’re referring to Roosevelt.”

 

 

“ _Oh_? No longer on a first name basis?”

 

 

Judging by the matching strain of silence, John thought it wise not to prod further at old wounds.

 

 

“Go ask Rachel. She’s better at keeping track of moving bodies considering the drug’s hallucination effects. Maybe she can help you sedate that poor little veal and have her melting on the tip of your tongue.”

 

 

While the image of that idea brought a twinge of delight to John’s lascivious reveries, the caviling echo of Joseph’s lull prevented him from diving deeper into the depths.

 

 

“I’ll tell you for the last time, I am merely _entertained_ by her. She’s nothing more than a toy to pass time until we’re stuffed in these bunkers for seven years.”

 

 

“Whatever you say, little brother.

Make sure to wipe that blood and grime off your face for the first engagement. She seems like a breath of fresh air from your usual minxy breed.

But, if she _does_ ever need a leash….

you know who to ring.”

 

 

The line goes dead as John curtly ends the call.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The drive to John’s Gate was fraught with tension.

 

 

 _This is it_ , she thinks. _No turning back._

 

 

“Relax”, the soft sigh discerns.

 

 

After quite a number of twists and turns through dirt roads, Dibé finally stumbles upon a winding path leading to her frantic destination. Strangely enough, the approaching structure of a security gate was devoid of any animation but she passes through in spite of her insisting curiosity.

 

 

Humorously, the zigzagging path would have been oddly fitting in its design given its almost Bram Stoker homage. Probably wasn’t too far off the mark that she was about to encounter some variant of Bran Castle. From her own personal readings, John was supposedly the most sadistic of the siblings. She’d have to test the extent of that at a later time, regarding her admitted, if not explicit, penchant for masochism.

 

 

_Please don’t let John drag anyone else to his bunker. No one ever comes back._

 

 

Casual words of warning from a stray civilian during her pit stop at Sunrise Farm. She was off on the outskirts near a bear cave so liberating hadn’t crossed her mind, nor did she have the energy to expend being the “ruthless” killer she was expected to be.

 

 

It was frightening yet still much better being near the threat of animal danger. At least their territorial nature could be respected because it’s _their_ home. She couldn’t help but wonder why the random woman was idling around the cave herself. Then again, there _are_ lunatic drivers who likely have never driven below 80, reigned by trigger-happy citizens.

The county was pretty lawless to begin with.

 

 

A few craggy rocks, bridges and dense Peggies later and Dibé is met front and center with the erected underground shelter and once again, she couldn’t shake the sense of anomaly as she pulls up brazenly to park in the midst of crates and 18-wheeler containers, silencing the engine and sitting stiffly with the still view of “Welcome to Eden’s Gate” offering a not-so-welcoming greeting.

 

 

It was roughly 1400 hours and the skies were beginning to grey with the sign of heavy storm. She’d only been here for three weeks, shit hitting the fan 24 hours before and she hadn’t taken the time to properly introduce herself or establish affinity among the locals.

 

 

 _I’m a lone wolf_ , is her solemn declaration.

 

 

That was fine, wasn’t it? Perhaps it would ring true, if only her current actions weren’t so vaguely out of character. There were no concrete heroes or villains in Dibé’s book and she certainly wouldn’t  claim angel nomination. But, there was something… _natural_ here. In this anarchic environment, nearly anything could happen without fault or targeted blame.

 

 

“ _I can save you._ ” Her heart trembles with this staunch utterance in the now dripping cloak of ashen charcoal.

 

 

It’s the most effective incentive for her not to shift gears in reverse and return whence she came, once more obliging those impeding commands for obedience.

 

 

She allows herself to be drenched. To be _cleansed_ and _revived_ in the afternoon shower, leisurely strolling to the entrance as if it were hearth and home.

 

 

The seemingly 10-ton vault door didn’t unsettle her. However, she did note that it wasn’t very inviting having “Welcome” plastered above when the spoke handle wouldn’t budge an inch and no intercom was present.

 

 

Thus her attention was possessed instead by a single poster on the left hand side. A singular negative space portrait of the man exhibiting equally possessing feature, donning a pair of shades with a peculiar phrase beneath.

 

 

_The Power of Yes._

 

 

 _Interesting._ She mulls the many meanings this phrase could conjure while stepping forth again to the door, peeking through the small window where only the words “the collapse” spared her keen sight. She could feel herself being watched. There at least had to be _one_ surveillance camera here.

 

 

Dibé sighs before turning to the small office junction, entering and taking a seat. Because she sure as hell wasn't leaving now, with the rain beating down in relentless spates.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“Uhh…. John?”

 

 

“What is it?”

 

 

John had just finished cleaning himself up in one of the public showers, clad in his usual getup of jeans and blue button down but the vest was absent, his shades stored away, shirt untucked and hair still wet and mussed. There were documents of which behested his duty, paying remembrance to former attorney function and he was set to return to them in the dearth of the surveillance room until a voice urges his attention.

 

 

“There’s an unidentified woman outside the bunker. She’s dressed like one of us…. but I’m guessin’ it’s a guise ‘cause she was just standin’ around idly and-“

 

 

John doesn’t give the man a chance to finish as he pushes him away from the TV monitor to get a personal look.

 

 

“What do you mean ‘ _was’_? Is she still there?”

 

 

“Yeah, I guess so…. last thing I saw was her goin’ into the office so-“

 

 

Again, John abruptly interrupts him, this time deserting his dazed form as a towel was promptly thrust in his face, swift kick of wind sending papers flying upon brisk departure.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Dibé had been reading an abandoned note on the desk titled ‘Soul Demographics’. A list of three custom proverbs as a how-to guide for ‘saving souls’. The best she could muster. Seemed a bit ironic that the main line to catch her eye was the “ _if a soul is tainted by this corrupt world, look into their eyes, see if that soul can be redeemed_ ”.

 

 

Her reflection was cut short at the sound of a noisome din resonating against the faint burrs of gale and lightning.

 

 

Mellow footsteps grant hollow replacement, drawing nearer in calm riposte and Dibé freezes on the spot as a familiar yet foreign face receives her at the forward window.

 

 

“Well, well…., _well”,_ the man drawls in accord with a Chelsea grin.

 

 

His rumpled figure leans lazily against the window’s edge, arms bent and resting at the elbows, fingers interlacing as he twiddles his thumbs vainly.

 

 

“ _This_ is why I _admire_ Vera Lynn.”

 

 

He pushes off and walks with steady pace, vanishing briefly behind the cornered wall, betraying the otherwise gleeful crinkle of laugh lines deepening around his eyes, bunching his cheeks, as the reality of his existence returns around the bend, emerging as a gradual, overwhelming seize of awareness.

 

 

Dibé is still paralyzed with a now heady mixture of fright and delight as his scent and tangible presence has her mind reeling, smoldering downcast gaze intensifying her own attendance through chasing encounter of blazing inferno.

 

 

 

“‘We’ll Meet Again’ is _truly_  the winning number.”


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

 

 

 

“Hold on. Let me wax the bullshit from my ears just to make sure I heard you correctly.”

 

 

One shot of doctored bourbon burns a trail down Joey’s throat as a euphemistic motion to “wax her ears”. Just by her luck, rain started pouring in the midst of her journey back to town. The Peggies that had ungraciously escorted her out the bunker accepted her steadily croaking protests until they had made it outside, still rolling a ways through her restrained state in the rickety swivel chair, making it past the Black Horse Peak real estate sign and reaching one of their hallmark pickups.

 

 

Naturally, the truck bed was reserved for her as she was thrust rather disgracefully upon the platform, not having at least the decency to discard the chair, if not untying.

 

 

_I’ll be damned if I indulge that bastard and actually use this for transport._

 

 

The most inane instant to occur through this shitfest of events thus far, almost had Joey spewing risible laughs of fragmenting sanity just by the sheer folly of it all. She could see from behind as the dirt-laced wind sliced at her face, only partially obscuring the view of pale yellows and blues merging to slate grey. A little moisture wasn’t threatening to her necessarily but, unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for her makeup, if the 2 hour application had anything to voice about it.

 

 

Once they had surpassed the security gate, her _generous_ chauffeurs thought it best to condense the already expending tank of gas. A billboard flashed in view while her captors halted a rapid turn onto the side of the road, braking severely and making her braid bunch further as her head made contact with one of the conjoining barriers.

 

 

To her right erected the directory sign, leading to Fall’s End with an arrow pointing left. The opposite side of her vision was begrudgingly met with the contemptible mug of her misfortune, twisting around against the furniture’s hulking weight as only half a lie presented itself amid rankling zephyr.

 

 

_We love you_

 

 

Her gaze decides to train on the now darkened gradient above, clouds reflecting against the beady brown of iris, paying little mind to the dragging of plastic against grooves, wheels settling in a sudden courteous move. She was pushed yet again towards the crossroads. Finally, the ropes had been cut loose, her addled features left to brim with faint peal of thunder in the distance.

 

 

“Sorry miss, but you don’t know how long it’s been since this state has had any consistent rainfall. Last I’d say we had a good downpour was about... _40_ days ago, by my estimate.”

 

 

His partner chips in as they both made way back to board the truck.

 

 

“Reckon you’ve heard about the water reservoirs. Conservin’ resources is crucial with the Collapse nearin’. And the Father doesn’t take kindly to us makin’ commotion through bad weather. Says it’s disrespectful to the Man Upstairs.”

 

 

Joey hasn’t turned her head once to acknowledge the fading voices, prods of cold spots dampening polka dots along her heated skin. Sputtering sounds of engine were a weak lull relative to the strident empyrean.

 

 

She has a mind to hide the chair behind the angle of yet another Black Horse Peak sign and aims to start walking with an arm outstretched and thumb pointed up in the signature deserted hitchhiker pose.

 

 

“Well Mr. “Man Upstairs”, I’m gonna _pretend_ you’re the same sex. So, just between us, woman to woman…. have _mercy_ on my mascara.”

 

 

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before a Resistance member spotted her at US Auto, her foundation becoming just a tad smudged in the misting sprinkle. As soon as all doors were shut and the engine cranked, they were off into jetting streams of blearing curtains. Transient yet notable it was as Joey thought maybe, just maybe, praising an imaginary friend wasn’t _wholly_ adverse.

 

 

As expected, this whim was cursory as the hour clocked at half past 5 and Joey was sat before the Spread Eagle’s countertop. Before Mary May’s cordial face obliging her tipsy ventings. From 5:30 to 10 PM on that Tuesday evening, it was ladies’ night and drinks were free. She had downed two more glasses before continuing her quest for answers.

 

 

“You’re telling me… Dibé _purposely_ went to meet that cocksucker? _And_ she’s there as we speak, probably slipped right past me on my way back here-“

 

 

Mary May simply nods gently yet hurriedly to match her rising tone.

 

 

“....She’s lost her goddamn mind. Cameron will have a field day hearing about this. That is, if we manage to get him back now that one of our own decides to go rogue on impulse.”

 

 

Joey heaves a forlorn sigh as her interest heeds towards a mini stage in the back corner to her left, where a trio of musicians occupied the space. _The Unlikely Foes_ was their stage name, folksy instruments emanating as a lighthearted rendition to pandemonic ambience as they covered Vera Lynn’s ‘It’s A Lovely Day Tomorrow’.

 

 

“She hasn’t gone rogue, Joey. If ya ask me, she just has common sense is all.”

 

 

Joey shoots her a piercing glance, signifying she’s not in the mood for jokes. Mary May just smiles crookedly in jest.

 

 

“I’m serious”, she stresses before resting her hand on one of Joey’s.

 

 

“Look, I know it seems like you’ve been betrayed and everything’s quickly regressin’ further to fucksville.”

 

 

Fingers squeeze slightly in earnest comfort.

 

 

“But does she genuinely look like someone who would willingly cause any harm?”

 

Joey’s eyes soften as she turns her hand within grasp, palm melding firm against the woman’s warmth, stroking a thumb idly along the joints.

 

 

“Alright, then. Just…. trust your intuition. ….I’d just like to think that the whole ‘Tree of Knowledge’ thing was referencing Eve and that it’s actually _her_ who was the forbidden fruit.” She laughs through her nose.

 

 

“A woman is a weapon, after all”, Joey finishes with humming sally.

 

 

“That, we are.”

 

 

They both listen solemnly to the closing lyrics.

 

_If today your heart is weary_

_If ev'ry little thing looks gray_

_Just forget your troubles and learn to say_

_Tomorrow is a lovely day_   


 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

To say he was ecstatic would have been a grave affront. John was _tingling_ with anticipation. The little boy dancing within the fraying seams of his rib cage was elated and desperate for liberation. Of course, he would hardly allow himself to pronounce it. Least of all to the novel face before him. If nothing else, he’d express no shame taking pride in the past number of years he’s spent exercising moderation.

 

 

However, a negligible voice, idling through the rear of his conscience, half expected, half _desired_ her to assault him. Drizzling him in spontaneous affection to parallel the passion of God’s current pall of precipitation. This little boy, whose skin was touch starved in the bitter breath of September, was yearning for a single touch. An anchor of acceptance to solidify this thrumming foundation of tangibility.

 

 

His hand motions forth to her still seated figure, asking silently for permission. Slowly she takes his budding warmth, expanding callouses serving refuge, granting a taste of snug in the chilling birth of eventide. He doesn’t yank her against him nor does he particularly suggest any force in his charge. A prickling spark is unmistakable in the palms meshing ridges and Dibé releases in awkward haste as soon as she’s stood, stiff as the moment of their first encounter, arms glued in remembrance yet eased just so by an amused flash blowing the pupils wide to yoke with cyan hue.

 

 

_Don’t make yourself appear meek..._

 

 

She stares up at him vacantly, vaguely taking notice of the stark contrast of the poster leveling near his face from behind, almost offering a clear message of assent.

 

 

“I… don’t know what to say.”

 

 

She wouldn’t detect any hint of it but his chest swells considerably more at this candid admission.

 

 

“Neither do I. To be quite honest. But, I’d be lying if I said I’m not pleased by this improvised arrival.”

 

 

Her pulse was fluctuating, breaths becoming indistinguishably shallow whilst austere lips barred her tongue from egress. Her legs move to go around him. His form a hefty shadow in the small enclosure, for in the next second he was quick to match her motions, side-stepping to block her way.

 

 

_Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea._

 

 

“What is it about you?”

 

 

His tone is suddenly much softer with this expression. Distant and unbearably sincere to leave her achingly susceptible.

 

 

“This disruption in my judgment.

...A boon to relieve the bane.”

 

 

How exactly was she supposed to respond to _that_?

 

 

Once again, she peeks a glimpse at the poster, the words beneath.

 

 

It was nonsensical and spuriously imprudent but none of her actions thus far have been expressly commendable.

 

 

 

“....Yes?”

 

 

 

This time she doesn’t mistake the bedimmed glint in his eyes. The fresh pine cone scent of his silk shirt, which was oddly just now showing visible signs of dampness to the present state of her frangible insight.

 

 

John stalks the few centimeters separating as his facade of gallantry is retired in exchange for leaning in close with brazen resolve. Their switching positions had placed her before the table’s side, small of her back pressing against the edge as he cages her in his arms, heat exuding from his torso to hers, committing the fine hairs of his beard to memory along with the loose strands atop his head and freckles dispersed along his forehead. The intimate proximity of his features were lovely in the leaden blue patina of suspending torrent.

 

 

 

“Say it again.”

 

 

 

Her quivering hands find purchase among taut forearms, littered with tattoos, flexing muscles ghosting pressing traces against her hips. The tongue was more than eager to seize its deliverance.

  
  


 

“... _Yes._ ”

  
  


 

She has nothing to lose nor gain from this subsequent, submissive confession. It’s all the sanction needed for either to fully embrace each other’s isolated company, him standing back with a fine merging of pleased and sober impression, taking charge now to lead her beyond the vaulted entrance, guiding her to a modern chariot and drifting off into starless twilight.

 

 

 

This was the point of no return.

The official breaking of the first seal, manifested as a willing lamb for sacrifice.

 

 

 

Laid exquisitely bare before the woven basket of alms carried fervently by the Creator’s favoured disciple: 

 

 

 

 _John the Baptist_ .   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peep the wlw moment with joey and mary may ;-)


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

 

 

A duet of crooning musical numbers were set before a flat embankment with appeasing deference to observe a blurring Sun’s retiring rapture, enthralled by a rare moment of peace in that addled climate. Fleeting glances had been exchanged, utterances of further greeting, shedding layers of anonymity. Dibé was confused and reasonably anxious on the short drive they’d taken to the crossroads, thinking they were coursed to venture back to Fall’s End, but instead he had made a practiced turn on a parallelling dirt road, subsequently stopping, walking around to open the door for her, being led off through a wayward trail that sloped down to the lake they were presently situated. 

 

 

Lily pads surfaced nearly every inch of the widened expanse, not a single creature in sight. There had, however, been a lone snake along the path (that John had quickly snuffed with his heel and let sink into the murky depths upon arrival). The topography of the country landscape was composed in equilibrium by that of nature’s agreement with the intrusive yet complementing decorations of religious reverence. Bales of hay comprised makeshift pews and just by that assessment alone, she could conclude this area as being just one, if not  _ the _ , body of water for baptizing recruits. 

 

 

Her sensory overload was getting the best of her in that striking stretch of wilderness with accompanying circadian escort being just as susceptible as she was. There was something patently errant in his demeanor. This was not his usual setting of communication. He was supposed to be inflicting pain on her, was he not? Having her endure trials of maltreatment in sporadic intervals with little to no remorse, gaining single satisfaction from a withering admittance of transgressions. 

 

 

As it happens, there would have been nothing to exclaim had she been resistant as the others, being dragged unwillingly to his bunker and possibly suffering the same fate as a fellow captive deputy. Which, speaking of, she had been prompted to ask of her whereabouts, breathing out a sigh of relief when his words bore consolation towards her security, ensuring that no suffering had been administered. Their conversation had been admittedly focused on her reasons for exacting these operations for criminal justice and, being the ever candid owl she was, she was bold in her assertion that none of it was voiced by personal election. This was a ballot shunned away from her favor, leaving her to grovel before the gravel and pave an amended path to adapt. Rolling with the punches was fine as long as she remained unthreatened by potentially damaging factors. 

 

 

So much more she wanted to learn about this cult. The origins and motives.  _ Joining _ was far from aspiration but if it meant unveiling more about the mysterious man before her, even less so but still curious of his family, she’d be more than willing to manipulate the motions to her advantage. 

 

 

What she could make of the drastic change in ambience, was equivocal. John had been fiddling with a stray book, white and embellished by gold embroidery, when his head snapped up as a startled rabbit alerted by the approaching presence of predatory gaze. The sound was unmistakable now. An engine purring louder with each passing ripple. John quickly darts his glare to her, standing before her within seconds, as if he knew exactly who was to materialize and pass distraught judgment. 

 

 

“Stand in the water.”

 

 

She’s too smart to question in the face of looming danger and thus shuffles to the tide, boots and cargo pants getting soaked to the knees as she turns to await further command. He’s there within moments, anonymous book in hand and raised to the sky, beginning to mouth words that gradually crescendo to audible scriptures in the steel pitch. Then, a pair of confident eyes gleaming bright to challenge the slit of silver and muted shades of indigo above. The following bodies to disperse into view were as a plague upon the once tranquil patch of earth.

 

 

“Do you mock the cleansing, John?”

 

 

That same heavenly sound, maligned by casual blasphemy, rippling melancholic waves along the lake’s placid surface.

 

 

The man of previously arresting nature appeared markedly different against crescent parted clouds, divulging serene backdrop, filtering through leaves and vying with the hazy beams emitting from headlights. A padded vest fit snug about his long-sleeved torso. Surrounding him, a group of cultists, all equipping synchronized arrangement of his haughty countenance. His own brand of lackeys from the Compound, encircling as a chipped halo beneath an entrance of billowing fabrics in the approaching silhouette of dusk.

 

 

They were positioned sideways in perspective, John’s free hand firmly planted on her shoulder while the other lowers, ceasing his repetitions to acknowledge blood relation. 

 

 

“No, Joseph.” His voice has suddenly taken a yielding tone, normally relaxed brows uncreasing more so to an almost puppy dog illustration. 

 

 

“I’m glad you’ve taken heed to my word, but now it seems your sin… must be exchanged for another. Jacob has informed me that you’ve taken a singular intrigue in our guest.”

 

 

Joseph’s attention is now invested towards her, making her feel impossibly smaller than physically evinced. 

 

 

“Come forth, child.” He shifts and spreads his arms out, beckoning her vicinity. 

 

 

With vigilant opponents poised at command, she eschews hesitation yet can’t help but look to John in unspoken solace. Her heart fell at the sight of his head downcast and purposely avoiding of her now evidently worried impression. 

 

 

Still, she presses on against the gripping fist of adversity. She wouldn’t allow herself to appear weak before this mortal being. Just a man of flesh and bone before the divine stars of the universe, able to be compressed to a mere speck of additive absence among callous abyss. 

 

 

Fear has no place to tread in this man’s derisory stead. 

 

 

Ghosts of stoic refuge possess her, giving into the press of his forehead against hers. The pressure of fingerpads against her temples and swaying tendrils. 

 

 

“You’re not here by accident or chance…

You are here by the  _ grace _ of God.

You’ve been given a gift…

Though it remains to be seen whether you choose to embrace it…

Or cast it aside.”

 

 

The repellant yet subtle push of his hands once they settle on her shoulders does not go unnoticed with the finishing line, mitigating the stagnant friction. 

 

 

“Put her in the van. 

Our  _ loyal  _ Heralds are exhausting their intermission as we speak, there is much to discuss, and the Lord’s goodwill is yet rebuking to our tardiness.”

 

 

John seems to finally break from dismal stupor upon this hardened injunction. 

 

 

“Where are you taking her?” The inquiry was uttered with tepid bruxism, dense steps leading him so far before being detained by a Peggie duo.

 

 

The image of her tiny form disappearing behind the back end of the vehicle is imbibed by Joseph’s avid perusal. 

 

 

He is no less imperious to address his brother’s witless rendering. 

 

 

“I’ve issued a meeting at the ranch. 

After catching wind of your loafing interactions with our bovine offering, I’ve decided a little  _ deliberation  _ is in order. She alone, isn’t the only one to be bargained in attendance tonight.”

 

 

Vise grip unfetters his arms as the men quickly move to open the van’s passenger door.

 

 

“We’ve left your truck for you, so try not to lag too far behind.”

 

 

Trenchant rifts fill John’s vision as Joseph returns to occupy just one of many besotted thrones, his final words fostering grievous caution of discomforting farewell.

 

 

 

 

* * *

  
  
  


 

 

“ _ Don’t _ leave your family waiting, John.”


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

 

 

All had been quiet on that harrowing ride. Just an unsuspecting van, truck following close behind, sped off past equally oblivious twin lights in the now regnant gloaming. 

 

 

The Peggies accompanying her in the sizable cargo space were mindful of their own when it became clear she wasn’t plotting any method of escape, paying no mind to them as she stayed trained on the vehicle tailgating them. Much to her unease, the windows of the truck were tinted to near oblivion, an evanescing profile before the windshield unmoving, barely staying prominent in the dull glint of moonlight. 

 

 

Ultimately, their destination had led them to the opulent architecture of a lignified expanse of dwelling. She couldn’t take in the surroundings with what little was offered through rear view. Dim oranges of passing street lights illuminated the flooring as she looks down. A few twist and winds later and the doors were open, guards waiting for her to unboard and she exits without a single arm of crude convoy. Cornering around, she sees Joseph closing his door, swathed in protection, leaving just two remaining bodies in the lukewarm divide of seasons’ transition. 

 

 

John had parked off a ways near some crates, under a single street lamp, hands shoving in his pockets while ambling towards the steps beginning to pan into scene. Maybe she would have commented on how nice the home was had it been any other context. 

 

 

It was like a fancy country estate, the refined elegance and comfy elements silencing her anxiety. Within her line of vision, passing the living room’s centerpiece divide, cargo boxes had been displaced through a door leading outside and in its stead slid a chair reserved for wandering attention. The chosen captor of her current arrest was already seating himself, two familiar faces on either side. 

 

 

As expected, little was conducted for this “discussion”. Joseph and his hauteur were having a private tea party of their own, consulting and solidified in their prophetic sweeteners that entailed omniscient disclosure of what her following declaration would spell. 

 

 

She’s teetering on the jagged edge of ravenous streams. Vigorous waves rushing to tide as the essence flowing restless beneath weighing pounds of fleece and marrow. A transformation was occurring. Her form shifting to an apparition, renouncing of a desperate hand to grasp the back of corporeal collar in a fruitless attempt at salvation. 

 

 

Redemption could not thrive here. 

Time has exhausted its perilous journey of durable patience and now the seams were beginning to snag away along these cutting edges, pliant and culpable to the fellowed crimes of senescence and neglect. The numbing throb of temple was a dazzling strain of melodies, blinding her keen insight with visions of besmeared whites. 

 

 

Bastardized purity. 

 

 

None of these people cared. They hadn’t even half a mind to care for themselves. Avaricious, and hollow of compassion for any other perishable intimation. Who was to deny similar depictions exposing the self-proclaimed luminaries exalting this craven story of sacrifice and inspiration? Radios and television broadcasts uttering the same tired voices of despair. Religious zealots and humble worshippers alike warning that Revelations has come to pass and all shall be scorched inexorably within the flames of God’s weary umbrage. 

 

 

Not once had these jaundiced ruminations manifested upon her phlegmatic sweep of sense. The four heralds were still looking at her expectantly, awaiting the manna of somber oath. 

 

 

“Eden’s Gate just got itself a new member, I guess.” 

 

 

_ But no _ , the fatigued contention continues in brooding. Only the man sat directly across her from the dining table was that single Pyrrhic soul condemned to a fate beyond remorseful hand of absolution. A scorned disciple, grasping immodestly for purchase at the hem of his Maker’s garment, too inebriated on hubris to acknowledge the coarse tug away from his feeble, crawling form. 

 

 

Dibé still has sympathy for him, in spite of. An unconscious annoyance of understanding that has yet to give any aid for her in return. A perpetual heaviness settling among the depths of her surprisingly still vibrant heart as they engaged in calm exchange of piercing stare. 

 

 

“Well…”

 

 

The ginger-haired man from her right stands and pronounces his hulking figure in dominance. 

 

 

“There’s your agreement, Joseph. You satisfied now. I got a pack of hungry Judges waitin’ under this crescent moon so is this meeting  _ adjourned _ ?”

 

 

“ _ No…” _

 

 

Joseph follows his brother’s lead, figure just as demanding of preeminence in his elegant rise of strife. 

 

 

Rachel isn’t all there as she hops up to pace a bit, folding her arms in exasperation. 

 

 

“Can we make this place a little more... cozy? If I have to stay here another second, at  _ least _ have a fire going.”

 

 

“A fire?” A hint of incredulity expresses The Father’s normally composed mien, alternating between his brothers in mock disport.

 

 

“Our sister wants a fire…”

 

 

What appears to be a lone cologne bottle near the edge of his seating grabs his attention. He flips the diamond top, picking up its cubic form and striding to the centered hearth. Everyone watches blankly as he pours the contents over the logs like gasoline. 

 

 

“Match.” 

 

 

Jacob moves, not of his own volition, to unpocket a pair of strikes from his jacket. Joseph takes it, not all to gently, and ignites a spark, sending this vestige of choler into a spirited inferno. 

 

 

He and Dibé’s backs were facing one another. Fire burned in his eyes, reflecting fiercely against the neon yellow spectacles, in more ways than one, his reverberating voice signalling those eyes have penetrated into the back of her skull now in channeled energy.

 

 

“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power, wealth, wisdom, might, honor, glory and blessing.” 

 

 

Uncomfortable warmth spreads along her shoulders, impressing prints of dominion. 

 

 

John hasn’t once removed his survey away from the bookcase set before his seated rigidity. He seemed as if his lungs would only spare respite when these uninvited guests would cease to overstay their welcome. 

 

 

Joseph doesn’t fail to take notice, if his following words were any indication. 

 

 

“Jacob, I think our Dibé would find more fitting  initiation under your guidance. She’ll start training with you. Taking sanctuary in the Veterans’ Center. A week, at most… Then she’ll be handed to Faith.”

 

 

His manner is plain and toneless to John’s avoidance. Hands releasing grip from Dibé’s equally rigid and inscrutable settling. 

 

 

No dismissal is uttered. No strings of dissent. Just the same soft marching of soles embossing the floorboards, leaving only amber hues to accentuate, sheets of healthy flames crepitating enough jubilance in the deadened air. 

An audible sigh rivals the hiss and drowsiness begins to replace listless adrenaline. 

 

 

“That’s it? No rebuttal? No input? You just sit there like a lump on a log?”

 

 

“There’s nothing to say.”

 

 

Finally, her stiff muscles are given to relax as she relinquishes her seat, aching bottom aiming to rest instead on the tables’ edge, looking up to decorations of fine china lining brick and mortar of the still blazing fireplace.

 

 

“So, you just let your brother treat you like shit because you’re the youngest. Says as much.”

 

 

Dibé is steadfast in the onslaught of screeching wood and storming steps behind, his furrowed brow and pressed lips shrouded in shade before her.

 

 

“You’ve made your choice. As of tonight, you’re an ally to us. As Joseph said, you’re an asset. The sacrificial lamb of our operations. This means no speaking ill of The Father.”

 

 

“Oh, now it’s  _ The Father  _ again.”

 

 

She pushes off, urging him to step back and give her room. 

 

 

“Why are you letting him control you? Doesn’t sound like an admirable sibling, if you ask me.”

 

 

“Your juvenile records weren’t extensive enough.” He retorts without missing a beat.

 

 

“Is that right?” The bookcase he had been previously captured by charmed her. More so, the leather couch beneath. Her boots were discarded along the way, sock-clad feet relishing the furry feel of a bear rug before lounging upon the surface supine with one of the pillows perched behind her head.

 

 

“Don’t get me wrong. I  _ want  _ to help you. Just not in the way you think.”

 

 

“What’s your plan?”

 

 

“Pardon?”

 

 

“I’m all ears. _Indulge_ me with this scheme for reclamation.”

 

 

Oh, if he didn’t look delectable under the golden hue of those antler chandeliers, magnifying his casual strut. If only she didn’t hate being sappy. Him crouching before her, smug smile encouraging, had her struggling to resist the compulsion to pull him forward in embrace.

Maybe one day soon, they’d make it to that point.

 

 

“There’s no plan. But, I’ll agree to tell you,  _ if _ -“

 

 

She could barely contain her giddy grin.

 

 

“You tell me more about yourself. Seeing as I’ll be enlisting in boot camp with that soldier brother of yours, the least a guest can get is some details on the host. Maybe a fresh change of clothes, some food, and a bed, while we’re at it.“   
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
> 
> \- William Shakespeare

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

And it was there...., where pothers and furors commenced burgeoning regnant of flavor. Lascivious tempests supping at befouled waters, sating their famished perversions. Eruptions and burrs accumulating to a merciless vortex. Chaos and order, exacting synonymous reign at the prime center of origins. Perpetual and unrelenting torment embracing such forlorn residents in woolly deception, pale imitations of purgatory chorused dissonantly as doctored syrup from a Plague physician. Watchful billboards hovering repressively over the ill-fated county in question, piteously devoid of its senselessly bullish namesake.

 

 

Blistered hands splaying their bittersweet vengeance upon this mangled landscape of gnarled, hemorrhaging anatomy. A new home they’ve found on charcoal roads, deliquescing to simmering ode of the Styx. And here in stead, bleeds the otherwise wholesome night, where stars were absent, begrudgingly accompanied by slivering moon, reticent to specter….

 

 

Still, it is, at best, a beacon.

At worst, a familiar yet foreign voice arrogantly asserting once again:

 

 

 _Hence, we must venture to the place where it all began_.

 

 

Thus an acid test, is what this genesis behests, beseeching the following words:

 

 

**_You and the winged star_ **

**_move so far_ **

**_off the grid of existence,_ **

**_but only one can pay the toll_ **

**_for repentance._ **

****

**_This is his sentence._ ** ****

**_Fall from elysian?_ **

**_Good riddance._ **

**_But, don’t be mistaken_ **

**_monochrome matter,_ **

**_for it is the gold that has fallen_ **

**_from the ladder._ **

 

**_Lost from saving grace,_ **

**_Banished from a heavenly place_ **

**_because the silver of your face_ **

**_he found to be a nuisance._ **

****

**_The gold ridiculed its manufacturer_ **

**_for creating a substance of lower stature;_ **

**_dull and quick to tarnish._ **

****

**_Thus he ponders,_ **

**_“How can silver be superior to gold?_ **

**_It is I who is the sight to behold._ **

**_Who are you, monochrome,_ ** ****

**_desiring to steal my home?_ **

**_With the Almighty Deity,_ **

**_I have sworn fealty,_ **

**_yet what do you have to offer?_ **

**_Your purpose remains;_ ** **** **** **** ****

**_Infantile, you crawl the Earth_ ** **** **** ****

**_to sate my Master’s mirth._ ** **** ****

**_I refuse to be disgraced,_ ** **** **** **** **** ****

**_by such a lackluster face.”_ ** ****

 

**_Soon enough, he would eat his words;_ **

**_Master would forever prevent him_ **

**_from flocking with the birds._ **

**_His gold sheen will fade,_ **

**_and once the monochrome parade_ **

**_immerses him in shade,_ **

**_they will commence phase masquerade._ **

 

**_Humiliated and abandoned;_ **

**_realizing he’s been defeated,_ **

**_he will apologize for his lies._ **

**_“I had been colorless all this time;_ **

**_Your countenance was never_ **

**_any different from mine._ **

**_Butterfly reversed to caterpillar;_ **

**_Envy cocooned my chance to shine._ **

**_Jealousy has made my heart run cold;_ **

**_All that glitters is not gold.”_ **

****

**_Muted grey obscures his features;_ **

**_No longer is he one of the empyrean creatures._ **

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

In anticipated waking, this manifesto is ushered by yet another spurned sound of sovereignty.

 

 

_Welcome the herds and wasteful words._

_Observe, scorn, and reprove those birds._

_These sundry flocks among ashen skies._ _  
_

_Of welkin conjures steed and stock, where all eyes of fear arise._  


  

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

‘Hope’.  


 

 

Hope was never a befitting name for this dismal county. These hapless people clinging hopeless to monochrome ribbons of Life’s infamous fabrics. Hopeless and tasteless to the bitter notes of neurosis as their calloused hands grip with ignoble purchase, feeble fingers revealing untrained strain through looping gaps of trigger and pull rings.  
Charlatan succors of science peruse this cancered soil for ailments, vain and ever desperately starved for discovery as the cure for Earth’s metastatic malady persists to elude.

 

 

Very few acknowledge verity in its rawest form. None at all exists in mind.  


 

 

 _It’s okay, I’m fine_ , the lies they find.  


 

 

Oppressive tendrils of air have become their abiding sustenance. _Foolish and weak_ , the lungs plead, perforated by vulture’s beak.  


 

 

 _Mary May Fairgrave._  
_Joey Hudson._  
_Staci Pratt._  
_Larry Parker._  
_Sarah Perkins._  
_Jessica Black._  
_Grace Armstrong._  
_Rachel Jessop._  
_Aaron Kirby._  
_Eli Palmer._  
_Tammy Barnes._  
_Earl Whitehorse._  
_Cameron Burke._  
_Virgil Minkler._  
_Adelaide Drubman._  
_Hurk Drubman._  
_Charlemagne Victor Boshaw IV._  
_Nick Rye._  
_Kim Rye._  
_Richard Roosevelt._  
_You_ , _and_ _you_ _alone_ , in your fading seams of reality.  


 

 

Unnamed and blurred faces alike, inscribed diligently into the Book of Life.

All at once, besmirched with strikethroughs.

 

 

 _  
_ _I will fill your mountains with the dead. Your hills, your valleys, and your streams will be filled with people slaughtered by the sword. I will make you desolate forever. Your cities will never be rebuilt. Then you will know that I am God._

  


 

In this exquisite, anarchic symphony of throes, the spirits’ agonizing screams dream of mercy singing her celestial song.  


 

 

The now scorching skin of the Earth was beyond restoration and, by Joseph’s prideful brand, you are inclined to agree with the divine opposing tongue that, indeed, the throne shall forever be seized by an ever growing legion of bad seeds.  


 

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the name of one, however, the title was flattering in its sardonic mirth.

 

 

* * *

  


 

 

 

By Fall’s end, Potter’s field would be pleasingly immured by fair graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I could go on with this but decided it wasn’t worth the effort trudging through the bog I’ve presently cast in a sudden fit of tedious realization. All these years thus far, I’ve been an anchor buoyed by independent branding of tenacious strength but now it’s getting to the point where that brawn is beginning to weaken in resolve and I suppose this represents my cathartic release. 
> 
> I feel it’s still befitting to end this incoherent tale here due to the equally nihilistic musings of the canon ending, which is why I just opted to conclude on this rather dreary note.


End file.
